


chest full of birds

by hungerpunch



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Non-Famous AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungerpunch/pseuds/hungerpunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall almost breaks a washing machine, and that's just where it begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chest full of birds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [othisredding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/othisredding/gifts).



> commissioned by the lovely sika, who request a non-famous AU. thank you so much for presenting me with this awesome opportunity. i really hope i veered 8k in the right direction! ♥
> 
> thank you to s of [hostagesfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic) for the beta, [shannon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums) for the irish-pick, and [rhian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecather/works) for the brit-pick. y'all are wonderful!

“And the couple across the hall are newlyweds, nice people,” the landlord is saying; he’s practically given Niall the entire history of the building—which Niall is well interested in, it’s just that his shift starts at five, so he’s itching to hurry it along. “He’s a DJ and she’s a vocal coach, I believe,” he’s rambling, and Niall’s sure they’re lovely, they sound like it, but he has a bus to catch.

“Sounds good,” he says, smiling brightly. “Perfect, actually. When can I sign the papers?”

Three weeks later, Niall’s hauling his shit in. He pays Brez and Eoghan in pints and pizza to help him unload, and between the three of them the work goes rather quickly. Niall doesn’t have much to begin with, and the flat’s not big enough to really deliberate about what goes where—stuff goes where it manages to fit and it’s fine, if not a bit tight.

It’s nice, too, to kick back with the lads on either side of him, eating greasy pizza off paper plates, cold pint in the other hand, tired but content. But then Bressie and Eoghan pack up and drive off and Niall looks around at the towers of cardboard boxes and sighs in the hush they left behind. He taps his bottle against his thigh absently and gnaws his lower lip before he decides to start with the kitchen.

He only manages to unpack two boxes before he gives up for the night, curling up on his unmade mattress in the other room. It’s the end of an era, he thinks as he falls asleep; the disbandment of the rat pad—Bressie going to shack up with Roz and Eoghan fixing to move north, leaving Niall to sort his own. He’s sure it’s the beginning of a lot of good things, too, he just can’t think of any at the moment.

—

The first time he meets Marvin, he’s fairly certain he’s just broken the communal washing machine. He knocks on the door across the hall from his and pinches the bridge of his nose as he waits.

An alarmingly handsome man answers, swinging the door open wide to reveal him head-to-toe, plain white t-shirt and dark wash jeans making his legs look unbelievably long. A pair of giant headphones hangs around his neck, the cord trailing down into his back pocket. Niall cranes his neck up; it’s not hard to be taller than him, but he feels especially small now.

He drags his fingers through the fringe of hair sticking out from his snapback. “Um… hi. I’m Niall, just moved in,” he says, jerking his thumb towards his own door.

A brilliant smile breaks across the man’s finely structured face. So fine, Niall thinks. “Ah, the new neighbor!” He extends his hand, long fingers wrapping gracefully around Niall’s. “I’m Marvin, call me Marv.”

Niall swallows, withdrawing his hand and shoving it into the pouch of his hoodie. “Marv,” he says, “I was just wondering if, er, I like. I can’t get the washing machine to work?” He laughs, scratching the back of his neck and feeling much younger than his 22 years.

Marvin’s eyes widen in understanding. “Oh yeah, it’s tricky. One mo’.” He disappears, leaving Niall to peer into the cavern of his front room, but he doesn’t catalog too much before Marvin is popping back up, a hammer in hand.

“Oh dear,” Niall laughs. “This looks serious.” He shifts to let Marvin pass him by and trails in the wake of his aftershave as they head to the laundry room.

Marvin looks back at him cheerfully. “Nah, needs a good bang is all.”

He does just that, Niall checking out the back of him all the while, until the machine begins its cycle with an ugly grinding sound. “That’ll go away in a tick,” Marvin assures him, twirling the hammer in his hands.

“Thanks so much,” Niall says, relieved, hoisting his empty laundry basket up onto his hip. “Boss hates when we turn up without our uniforms.”

Even when it’s small and casual, Marvin’s smile is classically handsome. “No problem, mate. Knock any time.”

—

Niall does knock. Several times, actually, for various questions and favors, each exchange ending more and more amicably until finally: “Hey Niall,” Marvin says as Niall’s leaving with the cup of sugar he came to borrow. “You should come ‘round during a game one night. Rochelle would love to meet you.”

Niall raises his cup in cheers. “I’ll check my schedule!”

—

He’s mid-dream about chasing a cat down an alley that never seems to end when someone lays on his buzzer; the sheer volume of it has him legging it out of bed without even fully comprehending what’s happening, spurred on towards the front door by some ingrained human instinct. He makes sure his shorts are all the way up and zips his hoodie as he stumbles out of his unit and down the hall to the foyer, wondering if perhaps his mum’s sent him a package or Eoghan’s still drunk from the night before.

Except it’s neither of those things, but instead a gorgeous woman. Trim white blazer, messy braid over one shoulder and a satchel slung over the other, a rosy glow on her smooth copper cheeks. 

Niall runs a hand over his brow, feeling like he’s got whiplash, but thankfully before he can say anything moronic, she speaks. “I’m so sorry! I live here, I just lost my keys somewhere—such a mess, me. Tried ringing all the bells—”

He shuffles back and lets her in, slightly overwhelmed, and then bites his lip. “Do you have your keys to get in?”

She hovers near Marvin’s door and grimaces. “No, I haven’t.”

Which is how she ends up sitting down at his kitchen table while he shuffles around, pulling down the tea and sugar to make the cuppa he just offered her. She must finally notice his bedraggled appearance because she’s cringing to herself when he turns around.

“Did I wake you up?”

“No, I,” he starts, fumbling for an excuse that already sounds like bullshit when she claps her hands over her mouth.

“I di-iiid,” she groans. “I’m so sorry, mate.”

“Niall,” he says by way of introduction. “And it’s all right, I promise.”

“Niall!” she gasps, eyebrows jumping excitedly. “I’m Rochelle!”

He points a finger at her. “Marv’s Rochelle?”

She rolls her eyes, albeit fondly. “More like he’s my Marv.” Niall thinks he should have known it the instant he saw her—their smiles are impossibly bright twins. He slides the cup of steaming tea over to her, passes the sugar and a spoon, and she says, “And now we’ve met,” like it’s something she’s satisfied about.

A half-hour or so passes, Niall’s tea cooling and leaving milky brown rings around the inside of his cup as he takes nervous sips every thirty seconds. He can’t believe he’s sitting here in basketball shorts and a zipped up hoodie while across his table is the most beautiful and animated woman he’s ever met. Typical.

She looks all around his flat from her perch, making him thankful everything out here, at least, is in order.

Rochelle says, "Do you cook?” She points to the stack of cookbooks he only recently unpacked and lined up. “Neither Marv or I can cook for shite. Well I can bake chocolate cake; that’s ‘bout it."

And she says, "You play guitar, do you?" with her eyes on his electric and acoustic, stood in a corner. He tells her yes, that he sings a little, too. “I teach vocal lessons down at the center, there. You should play for us some time.” 

She says, "Oh, good, Marv is almost home," while tapping at her phone. And, "He'll be so jealous I got to hang out with you first."

And Niall doesn't know what to say to any of it but laugh and sip his tea. He knows he's pretty good company but he's nothing special, especially rough around the edges after he’s just woken up. Nothing for anybody to be jealous of. Rochelle is easy to talk to, though, chatters in excitement when she spies his boxed set of _Love/Hate_ , and Niall thinks Marvin is luckiest man on earth.

Except then Marvin knocks to fetch Rochelle and he leans against Niall's door frame just so, curling over Niall at just the right height, and smiles, "Here to collect,” like he's exasperated but endeared, and then Niall thinks Rochelle is pretty lucky too.

Rochelle flounces out the door with a quick kiss to Niall's cheek, nudging Marvin as she goes. "Don't give me that look," she says, "like you've never lost anything before."

Marvin lingers. He says, "Thanks for that. If you get off in time, I've a set tomorrow night at Pacha. Come by, I'll get you a drink for your trouble."

“Was no trouble,” Niall insists, and Marvin laughs. “But yeah, mate, if I can. Sounds good.”

He makes a beeline for the bathroom, turns his head and yes, there, a lip print from Rochelle, faint and impartial, but. Still. Niall lifts his hand to it, feels it smudge against his fingertips. "Wow," he says quietly to himself. “Hm.”

—

Niall doesn’t end up making it to Marvin’s set the next night, but he does make it to the one after. Rochelle goes, too, dolled up in a sequin dress and heels that make her utterly tower over him even as she takes his hand and claps it around her arm. “You’re my date tonight,” she whispers conspiratorially as they walk into the club together. The bangles around her wrist glitter, her perfume mildly floral, her lipstick applied like velvet. Niall laughs to himself, as if to say _in my dreams_.

Marvin gets them up into the DJ booth and orders them drinks, suave in his element and gracious as ever as he grins knowingly at the way Rochelle’s got Niall on her arm. She tips them backwards just slightly over the rail above the crowd and takes a selfie of them, giggling as she immediately flicks it into Instagram. 

He’s thankful she doesn’t ask to dance because he would really make a fool of himself, then. As it is, it takes him half the night to settle into his composure, constantly caught between the varying attention of one Humes or the other. He gets there eventually, though, unable to stop smiling as he watches Marvin’s fingers flipping records—still legit vinyls, not a cheat code of iTunes mashup playlists—and Rochelle singing to all the songs she knows.

 _What a good fucking pair_ , he thinks.

—

What Niall discovers, though, is that they’re not always a hurricane of activity. Like when they have Niall over to watch footie matches and they’re both in soft pajama bottoms, soft tees, relaxed into their couch. Rochelle’s hair is in an elastic-bound bun, Marvin has no cologne on. They coax Niall into grilling for them—which isn’t much of a coaxing when all Marvin has to do is offer him a beer—and make room for him on the couch and cheer when their team scores and somehow manage to not make Niall feel like a third wheel at all. 

Or when Niall tags along to the concert for the students Rochelle coaches, and she stands demure but beaming proud in the front row as one by one they take the stage, young and old, and sing their hearts out. 

Like when Marvin is home sick one day so Niall takes over some homemade soup and ends up staying to play FIFA for hours, Marvin sniffling blearily and so pathetically red-tipped at his nose that Niall lets him win a couple rounds out of pity.

—

It builds up into the strangest type of admiration that Niall’s ever felt. It’s not like Bressie and Roz, who Niall congratulated fervently re: shacking up together. He loves them, thinks they’ve done a relationship about as perfectly as you can do one. If—but more likely, when—they get married, he’ll write them a lovely speech about how inspiring they are, because it’s true.

And it’s not like Marvin and Rochelle aren’t, it’s just that. They’re, like. _More_ , somehow. He feels kind of ashamed even acknowledging it to himself but it’s not like he ever fantasized about Roz and Bressie. Er, well. Not at length, anyway. 

He’s not _trying_ to fantasize about Marvin and Rochelle, either, but what are you really supposed to do when you wake up hard as a fucking rock after a particularly explicit dream except roll over and grind into your mattress until you come, thinking about two sets of perfect hands all over you?

He knows it’s bad, or, rather, he feels pretty bad, so he does his best to compartmentalize it. Square it up and tuck it away, control himself in their presence. It gets difficult, though, when Marvin pulls him in for a noogie, to stop himself from nuzzling into his neck. Difficult to not let his eyes wander when Rochelle is asking his opinion on outfits, modeling choices half-unzipped and draped so alluring. 

Difficult even more than that, is the fact that they both like to kiss. Not only each other, but Niall. Frequently! Niall kisses his friends, too, a peck on the cheek to say hello and goodbye. But Marvin and Rochelle will sometimes actually kiss his _mouth_. And it’s not lingering, it’s brief to be sure, not to be confused with anything romantic. He figures it’s just the difference, how they were brought up or something, but—god. It’s becoming increasingly hard to not lean into it, to not light up like a god damn Christmas tree whenever it happens. When he pours Rochelle a glass of wine and she pecks his lips in thanks, or when Marvin’s seeing him out for the night and finishes off a one-armed hug goodbye with a delicate flourish of a kiss to his mouth, like it’s an afterthought. 

Little and fleeting as they are, they fuel Niall’s agonizing dreams, which are starting to creep out of the neat little boxes in his mind he forced them into. 

_Help_ , he texts Eoghan one day, deciding to go for broke, because he can do that with Eoghan. _I’m pining after me married mates_.

Eoghan responds immediately: _Roz & brez arent married mate_ and then, _Im sure if ye asked, they’d let you join ;)_

“Ha ha ha,” Niall says drily aloud as he types back. _No you fuck. My neighbors._

 _Kinky_. 

Niall purses his lips. _I’m asking you for real advice (poop emoji)_

_Stop insulting me and come visit then._

So Niall buys a train ticket to Eoghan, and spends the first hour of the weekend bemoaning his stupid crush before Eoghan throws a beer and a video game controller at his head and bans the topic. 

“Gotta put it behind you, Ni,” he says. “Constant distraction is the only way.” Niall sighs and proceeds to get creamed at round after round of various video games. They go out to Eoghan’s neighborhood pub that night and get pretty blasted, monopolizing the juke box and playing barely respectable games of pool. They close the bar and walk home listing heavily into each other at two in the morning.

“Am I hopeless?” Niall slurs against Eoghan’s shoulder.

“Nah,” Eoghan says. “Just hard up. When was the last time you had a shag?” 

“Not since I moved,” Niall says. 

“We’ll fix that,” Eoghan assures him. “Tomorrow night. Hope you brought something nicer than your Derby jersey.” 

They do go out the next night and Niall does look nice and he does pull and it is good but when he wakes up the next morning alone, he’s still pretending that the blanket wrapped around his shoulders is Marvin’s arms. Niall groans into his pillow and refrains from telling Eoghan. Gets on a train back to his new digs and pretends it all worked, that it’s all fine, that he didn’t jerk off in the shower to the idea of eating Rochelle out. No, nothing of the sort.

—

He doesn’t manage to hang out with them for another week and some change, by which time he’s started to receive dramatic Snapchats from Rochelle with giant blown up sad emojis and texts from Marvin like _We’re starving to death w/o our chef! Have some mercy._

He knows better at this point, that he needs space or he’s going to capsize, but he just shakes his head and lets the butterflies pulverize his insides. He stops by Tesco on his way home. He Snapchats a picture of the shopping bags to Rochelle: _heard u were hungry._ He gets a praying hands emoji in return. _Come over tonight!_ she texts a minute later.

“Can’t leave you two alone for a single week,” he teases when he brings over plates of food later. “What am I, your keeper?” 

“Don’t make fun of us, Niall,” Rochelle begs. “Our talents lie in other places!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “They lie somewhere, all right.” 

Marvin comes up and ruffles his hair, drops his hands to rub his shoulders for a second, and Niall thinks it’s good to be back.

—

“You ever gonna bring a girl around, Niall?” Marvin asks one night while they’re marathoning _Friends_. Niall throws a piece of popcorn into the air and leans back to catch it in his mouth, shrugging.

“If there ever is one, I suppose.” 

“Marv, stop it,” Rochelle says, pushing her toes into his thigh. “I couldn’t bear it if Niall brought someone ‘round. Nobody would be good enough.” 

“You’d love it,” Marvin says. “You love playing matchmaker.” 

“That’s true,” Rochelle agrees, sitting up more fully. “What type of girls do you like, Nialler? Or lads, you know, whatever.” 

Niall’s face burns and he can’t look at them. What’s his type? Currently sitting on a couch with him. “How about when I’m looking for something, I’ll let you know,” he says with more grace than he actually feels, even rounding it out with a smile.

“Aw, do,” Rochelle smiles back. “You’d be the cutest boyfriend ever.” 

Marvin doesn’t even object, just laughs. “Told you she’d love it.”

—

After that, Rochelle likes to point out any time anyone looks at him for longer than a second, especially when they go out to another of Marvin’s gigs.

“You’re being scouted by like three people right now, Ni,” she observes around the thin straw of her neon drink, her long eyelashes flicking up and down with hawk-like attention. 

“No I’m not.”

“You are!” she insists, tugging at his sleeve. “Don’t you want to do anything about it?”

Niall shrugs. “I’m okay, honestly.” His skin is itching. 

Marvin rescues him. “Niall, c’mere,” he says. “I’ll let you spin a track.” Niall spins about as well an amateur could be expected to, and then he spins the rest of the night away in a spiral of drinks and Rochelle’s laughter and Marvin’s handsome smile. 

_So utterly fucking fucked_ , he thinks.

—

It’s a nice night out a couple weeks later, so they’re grilling in the garden. Or, rather, Niall’s grilling, Rochelle is reclining, and Marvin’s popped off to Tesco for more beer and BBQ sauce. Somehow, damnably, the topic comes up again.

Rochelle swirls her tall glass of adult lemonade around, ice cubes clinking together melodically. “I don’t get it, Niall. What’s up with you?”

“Hm?” he asks, sort of distracted as he flips the burgers.

“Are you like, recovering from some massive heartbreak or something? Are you asexual? That would be fine, just so you know.” 

“Oh my god,” he moans. “Rochelle.”

She sits up, pushing her sunglasses into her hair and squinting seriously at him. “Stop me if I’m truly prying, I’m only curious.” 

Niall feels tired, all of the sudden. He shrugs weakly. “There’s just someone else, right now, but it’s never going to work out.”

“Why not?”

Niall sort of feels like frying his face on the grill. He refrains. “They’re committed at the moment.” 

“Aw,” Rochelle sighs. “Unrequited love, is it?”

 _Love_. Jesus Christ. Niall swallows thickly. “Yeah,” he says. “S’pose it is.” 

Rochelle makes a considering sound in her throat. “Sorry, Nialler. Know how that goes.” 

Niall wants to ask when on earth someone hasn’t loved Rochelle back, but Marvin comes home just then and the conversation disperses mercifully. They both kiss him goodnight fleetingly when he leaves, and Niall’s heart feels heavy enough that if he stepped into a river he’s sure it’d sink him to the bottom.

—

Time passes into cold weather, sleeting rain and overcast skies, and Niall starts to balance out a little better, makes a couple more friends from work and from a golf club he gets a membership to just in time to play the last few good weeks of seasonable weather. Rochelle gives him endless shit about being an old man but it just makes him smile. He starts applying to university, slowly but surely, Marvin helping him with his essays. The world turns and Niall’s crush—or whatever—doesn’t fade, just complexifies.

—

He know he’s different when Marvin and Rochelle have a dinner party of sorts; more casual than “dinner party” really sounds, more like just a get together. Luckily it’s potluck style, so Niall only has to assist Marvin in cooking a few things while Rochelle tidies the flat up. 

It’s interesting to meet their friends, to hear about their past lives, to watch them get embarrassed over old memories. But what’s more interesting is how Marvin and Rochelle don’t kiss anyone on the lips, hello or goodbye. Not a single one. Niall doesn’t know what to do with that information except keep it tucked away in the back of his mind.

Marvin ends up driving the last guest home, and Niall and Rochelle do their best to clear the trash out before falling onto the couch. Niall reaches over the side and hoists his guitar up from where he’d brought it over earlier, strums softly as Rochelle sighs.

“What a night,” she says. “Think everyone had fun?”

“Yeah, was perfect.” They’re both a little tipsy. His fingers fumble on the strings and Rochelle smiles at him. 

“I’m exhausted,” she murmurs, running a hand through her hair.

“Go to sleep,” Niall suggests, thinking her bedroom is only feet away. He can take his leave if she wants.

“Okay,” she says, but then instead of actually going to bed, she crawls across the couch and stuffs a pillow onto Niall’s thigh, collapses against it and curls up there. “Goodnight.”

“Ah, right,” Niall says, biting his lip, trying not to tense up. “Goodnight, Roch.” He continues to play lightly, trying not to jostle her as he goes, trying to think of what Marvin’s going to say when he gets back and sees this.

All Marvin does, though, when he treks back inside, stamping snow off his shoes, is smile at them and say, “What a sight for sore eyes.” He lifts Rochelle’s feet carefully and slides onto the couch, settling them back in his lap. He clicks the telly on but mutes it right away, slinging his legs up on the coffee table and crossing them. 

He looks over at Niall after a minute of catching up on sports scores. “Thanks for coming tonight, Ni,” he says, and Niall’s startled to feel fingertips ghosting through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He licks his lips and tries to breathe. “Thanks for having me.”

—

When Niall gets his acceptance letter to University of West London for sound engineering, they’re the first people Niall tells. Not his mum, not his dad, not Eoghan, Bressie, Laura, Willie, none of them. He runs straight across the hall and bangs on the door til Marvin opens up, looking worried, until Niall presses his acceptance letter into his face with a slightly hysterical scream-laugh. 

“Holy shit!” Marvin exclaims, reading the letter. He looks up and then ropes Niall into a firm hug. “Well done, Niall. Oh my god, Rochelle’s gonna lose her shit.”

“Thanks,” Niall says, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. “Thanks for, like. Helping me with stuff.”

Marvin lets him go and waves his hand. “Of course. Listen, we’ve got to celebrate properly tonight. Roch gets home at six. Have you called your parents yet?” Niall shakes his head no and Marvin laughs. “All right, call your parents, call your friends, come over for dinner okay? I’ll take care of the food.”

“Don’t know if that sounds much like a celebration,” Niall digs, pivoting away when Marvin tries to flick his ear for it.

He rolls back over shortly after six and Marvin asks if he’s okay with ordering pizza out later, which sounds fine to Niall, as that’s mostly what he figured would happen.

Rochelle comes home and doesn’t let go of him for almost five minutes, screaming in his ear while Niall laughs the whole time. “Oh my gosh. Congratulations, Niall,” she breathes, peppering his face with kisses. Niall feels like he’s caught in an exceptionally cheerful whirlwind. “I knew you’d get in!”

“Thank you,” he says, quietly at first and then clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna change, okay? Give me just a tick.” She pats his cheek and clatters into the bedroom, flinging her handbag off onto the couch as she goes. Marvin laughs under his breath.

“She’s excited for you.”

Niall laughs, too. “I can tell.”

Marvin nods towards the kitchen. “Want a beer? Should be cold by now.” Niall nods and follows him, but when Marvin turns around from the fridge, beer in hand, he reaches out and reels Niall in for a kiss instead. 

It shouldn’t be anything different than normal; Marvin’s excited for him, it’s a joyful night, it’s an impulse action. Niall laughs in a bright burst against Marvin’s mouth and then pulls away, expecting Marvin to be messing him about for the beer.

But Marvin sets the beer on the counter and slowly backs Niall up against the oven. “Really, really proud of you,” he murmurs lowly, and Niall can feel the smile drop off his face as he tilts his head up. 

“Marv… ?” his voice sounds weak to his own ears, heart racing and palms sweating in an instant. 

“I’m excited for you, too, y’know,” Marv says, as if that’s an answer. Then he crowds in close, “Say no if you want.” He presses a line of easy kisses along Niall’s jaw and then slides his mouth over Niall’s for a kiss—a real kiss, their first real kiss, mouths actually moving together, Marvin’s hands going to hold him steady at the small of his back. A thousand noises feel trapped in Niall’s chest but he can’t make any of them; can’t move at all except to fist his fingers in Marvin’s shirt and accept his sweet, heady, close-lipped kisses. 

“Rochelle,” Niall gasps as soon as they take a beat for air, feeling like he’s been set on fire from his toes to the tips of his fingers. 

Marvin chuckles lowly. “You’ll see,” he says, leaning back in for a second round of kisses. He’s so close, his chest broad and stomach firm against Niall, long fingers dragging electric spasms out of Niall’s muscles wherever he touches. He smells just a pinch like his aftershave and cocoa butter and Niall doesn’t fucking understand what the _fuck_ is happening but, god, Marvin is _kissing him_. A long-trapped groan finally works its way out of him, quiet and slightly pained, as Marvin touches a thumb under his ear, presses against his jaw, licks sinfully along the seam of Niall’s lips until he gives up and opens up, feeling shameless. 

It’s a mystery, really, the way Marvin calms him down and works him up at the same time. He takes his time, everything slow: petting Niall slowly, kissing him slowly, time stringing out at a slant until Niall has no concept of it anymore. Until he feels his lips are so swollen, stinging pleasantly under Marvin’s skimming teeth. Until he feels safe, like Marvin must know what he’s doing, like it’s okay to enjoy this. 

He can’t believe Rochelle hasn’t walked in yet, but when Marvin pulls back and slides a warm palm down his arm until he can tangle their fingers together, leading Niall out of the kitchen, he thinks maybe there’s a reason she hasn’t. 

“Did I miss something?” Niall asks, breathless, as Marvin knocks on the bedroom door. 

Marvin just smiles at him as Rochelle calls through the door to come in. He gets a hand on the handle but pauses before opening it. “You can stop any time, Niall. You can have it however you like.” 

Niall feels like he’s going to fall through the floor because what the fuck can Marvin even mean? But Marvin’s waiting, so Niall nods, and Marvin opens the door. 

Rochelle’s sitting at the edge of their king bed, legs open, bare except for a silky lavender bralette and matching knickers, which she’s wet through with one hand down the front of them, grinding against her own fingers with a flush high on her cheeks as she bites her lip and looks at them. 

Niall might pass out.

“You couldn’t wait, babe?” Marvin teases.

Rochelle laughs, the sound of it steadying Niall by a fraction. Everything else is surreal but Rochelle’s charming laughter is so familiar, a language he knows by heart now. “Couldn’t help myself, so sorry.” 

Niall has legitimately dreamed about her like this. He can feel himself shaking, half from nerves and half from want. “Can I just—” he starts, voice cracking. “Ask, like. What? _What?_ ” 

Marvin comes around him from behind, slings his arms over both of Niall’s shoulders and leans his mouth close to Niall’s ear. “You wanna help her out, Ni?”

“Are you serious?” Niall whispers, truly one-hundred percent floored. 

Niall can feel Marvin smile against the side of his face. “She’d love it if you did.” 

He blinks hard, turning so he can look at Marvin’s open, honest face. “What about you?”

Marvin kisses him tenderly. “I’d love it, too.” 

“Fucking hell,” Niall swears. “Fuck.” 

“Only if you want, Niall,” Rochelle says, her hand stilling inside her knickers. 

“I do,” Niall rushes to say. “Oh my god, I do. Please.” He doesn’t want her to think for a single second that she’s anything other than what he’s been dreaming about for months. 

“Aw, Marv,” Rochelle smiles, withdrawing her hand. “Help him.” She brings her fingers up to her lips and licks them clean. 

“He’s doing great,” Marvin defends, hugging Niall back into him. “You’re just incredible.” 

“Incredible,” Niall echoes.

Rochelle drops her head towards her chest, laughing, blushing. “Boys, please.”

 _Boys. Please._ Niall’s head swims. 

“Can’t leave her get cold,” Marvin says quietly near his ear, pausing to kiss the side of Niall’s flushed neck. He nudges at Niall’s hip until he takes a step forward, then another. “Let’s kneel here,” he instructs, guiding Niall down until they’re both kneeling on the floor in front of Rochelle, Niall tucked in between the V’s of their long legs. Marvin’s hands rub up and down his chest and ribcage as Niall leans forward and presses a kiss to the inside of Rochelle’s knee. 

Rochelle lets out a quiet sigh and leans back on her hands, her face smoothing out. Her eyes don’t close but almost, just barely watching Niall from under a heavy swathe of lashes. Niall drops his reverent gaze and tries to focus, inching up along her thigh with soft kisses until he’s at the crease of her hip, the silk underwear rubbing against his lip. 

The wet spot of lavender is driving him crazy; he wraps each of his hands just under her knees for balance and then goes in, kissing over the dark patch of fabric, laving his tongue hard over it to try and taste, inhaling the thick smell of her. Rochelle groans and it drives him on, bringing one hand up to tease up and down her pussy through the silk. Behind him, Marvin has snaked his hands up under Niall’s shirt and is rolling his nipples between his fingers. Niall’s going to be lucky if he doesn’t come in his fucking pants.

He pulls one edge of Rochelle’s underwear aside, dragging the elastic over her clit. She’s not shaved, just trimmed down neatly, and Niall’s never been more excited to get his mouth on something or someone. He leaves two fingers tucked into the knickers to keep them out of his way and starts at the bottom of her dripping slit, flattening his tongue and dragging it slowly up through her folds, smearing her wetness up to her clit which he flicks at gently. It’s been a while, but he’s not inexperienced, and if Rochelle’s low swear words are anything to go by, he’s doing fine.

He pushes her slightly so she shifts up, gives him more room to bury himself in her, the ridge of his nose riding against her while he fucks his tongue in and out of her shallowly. “Oh my god,” she pants, “Niall. Fuck. Marv.” 

Behind him Marvin makes a smug noise. “Told you he’s doing great, isn’t he, Roch?”

“Fucking great,” she whimpers above him, and Niall pulls back for a ragged inhale, pressing a lush kiss to the top of her cunt while he sucks in air through his nose. He gets a thumb up on the throbbing nub of her clit and drags it in circles, loving the way her hips buck towards him. 

He leans back and rolls the sopping, ruined underwear down her legs and off. He bites his lip, tasting her there, and hovers close while he starts to fuck a finger into her, two fingers when she thrusts impatiently. 

One of Marvin’s hands come round the front of Niall’s hips, grinding the heel of his palm against Niall’s hard-on. Niall gasps, back arching; he’d been semi-unaware of his own need while so focused on Rochelle, and it stuns him now, how badly he fucking aches. 

“She gets me like that, too,” Marvin says, breath hot. “It’s the taste, right? And how she squirms.”

Niall nods; it’s everything—it’s. Knowing he’s making Rochelle feel good. That he’s putting on a good show for them.

“Get her to come on your tongue and I’ll get you off, yeah?”

“God,” Niall hisses. “Yes.” He scissors the fingers of one hand inside Rochelle and dips into couple them with his tongue, pushing as deep into her as he can while the thumb of his other hand stays circling her clit. 

Rochelle’s arms give out and she lies flat on her back, hips undulating as she twitches and swears, fingers burying into Niall’s hair and tugging him in, grinding against his face. 

She comes like that, pulsing around Niall’s tongue and fingers, her nails scraping his scalp as she moans through her orgasm. He keeps at her until she’s pushing him away, panting, thighs trembling. “Oh my god, babes,” she sighs. “So good. Fucking fantastic.” 

Niall leans his forehead against her knee and shuts his eyes. “Thank you,” he says, voice raw. 

He feels her sit up and his shirt gets tugged over his head, her hands come down against his neck, rubbing firmly against the tension there. Marvin undoes his flies and works his pants down enough to let Niall’s aching dick spring up; he’s so desperate he knows it’s going to over soon but that doesn’t stop him from reclining into the warm, comforting expanse of Marvin’s chest as Marvin starts to gently jerk him off, mindful of how sensitive he is at this point. 

“So lovely,” Rochelle says above them, and Niall really feels how exposed he is then, before her, chest bare and dick so wet in Marvin’s hand, he can fucking hear how sloppy he is for them. “So close, aren’t you?” she murmurs, reaching out to smooth his hair away from his forehead. 

Marvin suckles on the join of muscle between his shoulder and neck. “Let it go, Nialler,” he says. Niall whines, long and low, as he tenses up and starts to come, breath coming in hiccups and eyes squeezed shut, tears escaping out the sides, overwhelmed and hypersensitive.

The last thing he feels is being laid onto the mattress, someone beginning to peel his jeans off. He tries to mutter something, but it never makes it out.

—

Niall wakes up groggy, thumbing crusties out of the corners of his eyes before they’re fully open.

When he does open them, he realizes he is not, in fact, in his own bedroom. The events of last night hit him like a fucking grand piano falling out of the sky. “Oh fuck,” he whispers to himself, quickly taking stock of the situation: linens rumpled, bedroom door shut. He’s surprised to note a glass of water, full, on the bedside table. He’s not out on his arse, not beaten up; there’s no note telling him to fuck off STAT.

His throat is dry and his lips feel cracked when he licks over them, remembering vividly being buried between Rochelle’s legs last night. He flops back down onto the bed and presses his hands over his face. “Sweet Jesus,” he whispers against his palms. He fucked around with a married couple. Together!

Maybe that makes it okay? Eoghan would probably congratulate him. Bressie might be concerned. Niall can’t believe he’s thinking of them at a time like this. His stomach rolls with nerves and tries to focus, take his breathes in deep, count them slowly. The room of a couple you just shagged is probably a bad place to have a panic attack.

He lies shaking in the sheets for a couple minutes before slowly gathering his senses and slipping out of bed. He tip toes to the adjoining bathroom and runs the tap at a trickle, waits for the cold water to fill his cupped palms before splashing it up into his face, rubbing it against his skin roughly. He steals a cap of Listerine sitting sink-side and finger combs his hair before going back out and locating his fallen clothes. He makes a face at the crust of precome on his briefs and turns them inside out before tugging them on, jeans and shirt after that. 

He shuffles to the door of the bedroom and psyches himself up to go out, taking five deep breathes before pushing it open and stepping through.

Marvin and Rochelle are sat at the kitchen table, forking through breakfast. Niall smells coffee. A third place is set at the table. 

Rochelle looks up as a floorboard creaks under his careful tread. She smiles immediately, soothing the most frazzled of his nerves. “Good morning, Niall.” 

Marvin turns around in his chair to face him, “Come have breakfast, mate.” 

Niall forcibly relaxes his tense shoulders and goes to sit. Marvin passes him a plate of eggs and then of sausages and Rochelle pours him out a cup of coffee. It’s nice that she remembers he prefers it over tea first thing in the morning. “Um, morning,” he says, pulling the mug of coffee in close to him. His stomach is still turning too much to try the eggs. 

“You all right in there?” Rochelle asks, looking worried. She’s so lovely in the morning, fly away frizzies framing her face, snuggled in her dressing gown. 

“I, um,” Niall says. “No offense, but, ehm… What happened last night?”

Rochelle bites her lip and pushes her plate away from her. “We should have taken more time last night,” she mutters, as if to herself. “I’m so sorry, Niall, if you feel confused or. Or taken advantage of.”

“No—I mean. It was, fucking brilliant. Just. Kind of, um. Unexpected.” He fiddles with the fork set out for him, pressing the metal tines of it into the pad of his thumb. “And just. Wondering, what, like. What it means, if. Y’know, if anything.” 

“Oh my god, we’re the worst,” Rochelle groans, hiding her face in her hands. Marvin reaches out and takes the fork away from Niall, intertwines their fingers instead. 

“It was definitely something, Niall,” Marvin says firmly. 

“We got so carried away,” Rochelle says, “we were so excited for you, I just. Forgot like, that. You might have questions.”

Niall mumbles, “Just some concerns,” still feeling lost. 

“I feel really awful that we were so irresponsible,” Rochelle says, earnestly apologetic. “But we can explain everything.” She looks at Marvin.

“Oh I see,” Marvin says. “By ‘we’ you mean me.” 

Rochelle huffs and turns back to Niall. “We really like you, Niall. I mean it, we’ve—. Well. We’ve really come to care for you.” 

Marvin brushes his thumb over Niall’s knuckles. “We’re not exactly a conventional couple.” 

“I picked that—picked that up a bit last night,” Niall stutters, flushing all over at the memories.

Marvin smiles kindly at him; Rochelle is wringing her paper napkin to death in her lap. “Last night was fun for everyone, I think,” he starts, waiting for Niall to nod. “We can leave it at last night and move on, just be friends. But, Rochelle and I would like you to know that we’d love to have you.”

“Have me?” Niall repeats.

“Like last night, like right now,” Rochelle says. “Here, with us. Like, actually part of our relationship.” 

“In whatever capacity you feel comfortable with,” Marvin makes sure to clarify. “You don’t have to be exclusive to us. You don’t have to stay here. I mean, you can do those things, if you like, but. Entirely up to you.” 

“I’m still trying to get my head around the part where you guys like me,” Niall says to his plate.

“Niall please,” Rochelle laughs, a little sadly. “I liked you the minute you let me in and made me tea.”

“I like you two, too,” Niall whispers. He feels strangely fragile. He wishes, so badly, that they would have been in bed with him when he woke up. “So much. Have for a while.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Marvin says. “Take all the time you need.”

Rochelle nods. “Yes, no rush.”

“Thank you,” Niall says, still unable to look up at them. “I just need to, like. Get my head on, yeah?”

Marvin squeezes his hand and then lets go. “Completely understandable. We’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

—

Niall goes home and sleeps the rest of the day, head pounding sluggishly. After dinner time has passed, he picks up his phone and dials Bressie.

“All right, chief?” is the first thing Bressie says, and Niall buries his face into his blankets.

“I had the best night of my life last night, and today I feel awful,” he croaks. 

“One mo,” Bressie says, and over the line Niall can hear him moving, feet going either up or down a flight of stairs. “All right, what’s gone on, then?” 

“I’m just gonna say it, and you can’t, like, lecture me, okay?” 

“Jesus, Ni, go on,” Bressie agrees, sounding like he’s already constructing a worst case scenario in his head.

“I slept with a married couple,” he whispers, and then quickly takes advantage of Bressie’s stunned silence and hurries on. “I mean, I know them. They’re my neighbors. I—. They’re, well. They approached me.” Approached is an understatement, but. 

“They did, eh?” Bressie asks, and Niall hopes that’s not a threatening tone he hears.

“They’re awesome,” he tries. “God. I mean. I just. I really like them, I do, look. I’ve liked them since like the day I moved in, basically.”

“Did they take advantage of you, Niall?” And that’s definitely a threatening tone.

“No, no. Stop. I’m not a child, mate. I’m 22 these days, you know?”

Bressie grumbles. “I know.” 

“They, like. Properly invited me into their relationship, Brez.”

“Oh, Niall,” Bressie says. “Do you know what you’re getting into?” 

“Not at all,” Niall mourns. “That’s why I’m calling you.” 

“As I’ve been in so many polyamorous relationships.” 

“No, but.” Niall pulls the blanket over his head. “You’re my voice of reason.” Bressie sighs again and Niall curls up tight to himself. “I’m well gone for both of them,” he says quietly. 

“Chief, if—if they make you happy…” Bressie trails. 

“They do.” 

“Then why do you feel like such shite today?”

Niall worries the side of his thumbnail before answering. “I just wasn’t prepared. Still don’t know what to ask for, or like, say. Really.” He swallows. “Feel like I’m gonna ruin something.”

“All right. Then you just have to be real up front with what you’re okay with and what you’re not,” Bressie says, voice gaining traction as he goes, getting down to the advice Niall called him for. “That’s so key in relationships, like. Communication. Be totally honest at the beginning. Every detail you can think of, Niall. How much space you want, what you’re okay with, who you want to tell. All that.” 

“Okay,” Niall says.

“Make an actual list, okay?”

“Okay, yeah. I can do that.” He loves a good list, he feels a little better at just the prospect of it. “They’re good people, I promise.” He feels like it’s so important to have Bressie’s blessing, suddenly.

“I believe you,” Bressie says, voice sympathetic and, Niall can tell, ultimately heartfelt. “Call me when it’s sorted.”

The next day, he writes a crude list of what he wants down in his journal, struggling with the fact that there's still this impending sense of _not_ knowing what exactly he wants, only that he's game to do whatever Marvin and Rochelle throw at him as long as he doesn’t end up feeling like a castaway. That's the entire crux of it. Still, he tries; tries to articulate what he likes. After a week, it feels weird to have not seen them in the halls, to not have caught the game with them. Weird to not receive their silly Snapchats. And he knows that they're just giving him space to think, but still, the distance hurts. And maybe that's more telling than anything. 

At the end of the two weeks, he painstakingly handcrafts a formal invitation to dinner at his flat on Wednesday. He slips the end result into a pristine envelope and slides it under their door, feeling more accomplished than he has in weeks.

His next task is the dinner menu; he wants to impress them, show how ready he is to be something real for them. He briefly enlists Eoghan’s help but all Eoghan does is send him two dozen super extravagant Pinterest recipes so he nixes that idea and stays his own course. 

When the knock comes on his door sharply at 7:00pm on Wednesday, everything has gone about as seamlessly as it could go. The dishes have been washed to gleam within an inch of their life, the food's been prepared to perfection, and he even bought an actual table cloth to spread out across his kitchen table. He almost added tall wick candles before laughing at himself and putting them back on the shelf. It's Marvin and Rochelle, yes, but also it's just Marvin and Rochelle. He's pretty sure they won't fault him for not having china and candles.

He spares a quick glance at the set table one last time, a sense of pride blooming in his chest, before he turns and goes to answer the door. 

Rochelle is in first, pressing a lipstick kiss to his cheek and smiling wide, like she's genuinely happy to see him. "Missed you," she says as she wraps him in a one armed hug, other hand preoccupied with a bottle of wine, and she sounds so sincere that it puts Niall at ease. That he's maybe not the only one who's been feeling the silence. 

"Me too," says Marvin, swooping in to kiss his other cheek, Niall getting a deep inhale's worth of his aftershave. They both look immaculate, pressed and polished without looking overdressed, as per usual. 

"Come in, come in," Niall ushers, taking the wine from Rochelle and heading for the kitchen for glasses. "Make yourselves comfortable."

"Aww, Niall," Rochelle coos. "You've done up the table so nicely. Can I Instagram it?" 

Niall laughs, feeling pleasantly warm. "Sure, if you really want."

He hears the shutter sound of her camera go off as he uncorks the wine, pouring out three glasses in equal measure. She's smiling as he brings her a glass, setting one carefully at her place and one at Marv's before taking the lids off the ceramic dishes full of his carefully prepared food. 

"Nialler I feel guilty now," Marvin laughs, eyebrows raised. "You did all this for us? We could have helped."

"It's no trouble," Niall says, even though it definitely was and he had to make two trips out for more asparagus. "Besides, you two can't cook for shite."

"S'true," Rochelle concedes, her smile bright against her deep red lips. "Guess we're lucky to have you," she says, and Niall feels the flush rise in his cheeks, ducking his head to hide his own smile. Marvin spares him, gracefully changing the topic to the football scores of the week and from there the three of them dissolve into their familiar banter, putting Niall's food away easily until there's barely anything left in the dishes. 

It's not until they've cleared the table and Niall's poured them more wine, relaxing in their chairs and conversation dwindling away, that Niall clears his throat and sits up straighter. "So, I s'pose it's time to talk," he says.

Rochelle clocks his serious expression and smiles, but there's a concerned furrow between her flawless eyebrows. "Hope you didn't wine and dine me just to break my heart," she teases, but there's a thread of real worry underneath her words, her eyes gleaming wine-sheen and slightly sad at perhaps just the mere idea of it.

"Don't think so," Niall says, licking his lips and tightening his grip on the stem of his glass. "I've just been thinking about, well. What we talked about." He glances up and catches Marvin’s eyes, surveying him intently, and he feels proud that he manages to hold the gaze as he continues. 

"What I know is most true, is that, well. I like, I like being with you. You two make me happy—separately and together." He feels in his pocket for the list he'd torn out of his journal; he doesn't need it yet, but it's comforting to feel it there. 

"Took some time and thought about, erm. What this all means for me, and. Everything." He takes a deep breath and drops Marvin's gaze at last, one finger going to play with the hem of the table cloth idly. He laughs a little at it. "I bought this table cloth just for tonight, you know." He looks up, giggling self-deprecatingly at himself, and watches Rochelle preen over the rim of her wine glass as she takes a sip. 

“That says something,” Marvin smiles, and Niall hums in agreements. It does. 

“I think, like. I want to keep my own space, for sure. It makes coming to yours, like, special but also, I’m. I’m still becoming my own person, and like. I need this space, I think.” 

Rochelle nods encouragingly. “Of course, Niall.” 

“I don’t want to be like a third wheel, but. I’m not ready to be involved with, erm, families and friends, if that makes sense?”

“Absolutely,” Marvin says, steepling his fingers. “We can proper date you for a while, Nialler, if you like. Test it out. This isn’t like, do or die. You don’t ever have to do any of that stuff, if you don’t want. Can be as chill as you want.” 

Niall sucks in a breath. “Proper, um. Proper dating would be… nice. I think.” 

Rochelle leans back in her chair, her joy lighting every feature of her face up. “Proper dating,” she smiles, “we can definitely do that.” 

“And if something, like,” Niall falters, searching for his words. “If something doesn’t work out, I just want you guys to be honest with me, you know? I’m not looking to like, y’know. Wreck. Anything.”

“Honesty at all times,” Marvin says. “It’s a policy we’re familiar with.” 

“Okay, cool. Cool. I think that’s um, all. For right now.” There’s a whole list of sex things, too, but Niall feels like there will be time to get to those later.

“Thank you,” Rochelle says. “For giving us a chance.” She gets up and comes round the side of the table, leans down slow enough that Niall could reel back if he needed to, and gives him a chaste but lingering kiss, his face in her hands.

Marvin does the same. “You cooked,” he says, leaning down for a smooth kiss. “We’ll clean. You should put something on the telly and Rochelle can bring over the chocolate cake she made yesterday.” 

“Cake, hm?” 

Rochelle rolls her eyes. “It’s the only thing I can make.”

Niall would be more astonished, but oddly enough he can remember back to their very first conversation when she told him just that. “Sounds perfect,” he says. “Just perfect.”


End file.
